After All This Time
by Tarma Hartley
Summary: Birthday fic for SK. California, 1888. Phoenix Wright and Miles Edgeworth have their own successful law firm and are secret lovers in a time when their love is not only considered sinful, but is also criminal and punishable by law. A young lady has asked them for their help to locate her missing fiance but, as they are about to find out, their client is not exactly who she seems...
1. That Day In May

**This is a birthday fic for StudioKawaii that I wrote for their birthdays June 21, 2014. Hope you ladies had a very Happy Birthday! *hug* I am posting it here with their permission. Thanks! :)**

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_A/N: Phoenix Wright and Miles Edgeworth don't belong to me; they belong to CAPCOM. The plot, Mrs. Cameron and Helena Young are mine. :)  
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___It's California in 1888. Phoenix Wright and Miles Edgeworth have their own successful law firm and are secret lovers in a time when their love is not only considered sinful, but is also criminal and punishable by law. A young lady has asked for their help to locate her missing fiance but, as they are about to find out, their client is not exactly who she seems..._  
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A cracking good supernatural/romance/slice of life/drama story set in California in 1888! Hope you enjoy! :) Also posted to dA in its entirety. :)

Cover image is a commission, Narumitsu Wedding, that StudioKawaii did for me. THANKS! :)

_**Thanks** to my readers and all those who have favourited, reviewed, story alerted, favourite author or author alerted me. I appreciate it more than I can say! _

**Thank you** to my beta reader, Pearls1990, for her AWESOME beta reading! Much appreciated!

**Special thanks** to my beloved husband, DezoPenguin, for all his help, support, advice, nagging (when necessary) and encouragement! I appreciate it more than I can say! Love you!

Rated M, Romance/Drama/Supernatural, male/male relationships, Phoenix x Edgeworth  
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_May 2, 1888  
Phoenix Wright & Miles Edgeworth Residence  
7:30 A.M._

I was in the middle of a very pleasant dream when I felt a restless stirring beside me and I struggled to throw off the cobwebs of sleep when I felt Miles wake into groggy awareness beside me. It was a chilly, rainy morning and I really didn't want to get out of bed; what I really wanted was to burrow down under the thick quilt and sleep for another few hours but, knowing Miles like I did, I knew that it wouldn't be long until he climbed out of bed to begin the day and insist that I get up.

_Leave it to him to be a morning person_, I groused mentally as I opened one bleary eye to see Miles slowly turning over and yawning before closing it again. _Why couldn't he have been an owl instead?_ I grimaced as I felt him nudge me and, when I didn't respond, he nudged me again, a little more forcefully this time.

I knew that he would keep it up until he finally got satisfaction and I awoke. However, for some reason I couldn't explain, I was feeling belligerent this morning and decided to make him work to get me out of our nice warm bed. Besides, I liked being next to him and feeling his warm body against mine.

I heard an exasperated grunt, feeling him turn as he raised himself up on one elbow. "Phoenix," he said tartly, his voice announcing vexed annoyance close to my ear, "I _know_ very well that you _aren't_ sleeping."

I didn't move but remained as I was, humming a tune inside of my head. I knew that this would annoy him-he was already irritated with my usual tardiness-but I was bound and determined to have my satisfaction since _I_ was feeling rather put out at having to get out of bed this early on such a miserably chilly morning.

"It's time to get up," he went on, his mouth moving even closer until I could feel every inhaled and exhaled breath tickling my skin. "We have a client coming this morning to see us and we can't very well have her catching us in bed together." He paused a moment. "It _wouldn't_ be proper." With emphasis on the word _wouldn't_.

He had a point, I had to admit. I knew society looked down upon homosexuality in general and that the penalties for those caught in such relationships were harsh. Unless both men were of such high social standing that they could afford to have it covered up, ruination would invariably result to the unfortunate person's reputation and also of his lover.

Even social standing was no guarantee against prosecution for sodomy and it could be touch and go. I knew full well what would happen if either Miles or myself were ever caught in such a compromising position: not only would it ruin our good reputation that had taken us four years to build, it would also mean the end of our legal careers and imprisonment, as well.

I sighed as I slowly opened my eyes, seeing Miles' handsome face slowly coming into view. Despite my irritation with him, I couldn't help but feel a smile tugging at the corners of my mouth and my heart begin to beat faster as his face came into sharper view. I marveled anew how lucky I was to have this beautiful man both in my life _and_ as my law partner.

I smiled as relief broke out over his face, blinking a few times to clear my vision.

"Good morning, Miles," I said, yawning a little before I leaned over and planted a tender kiss on his succulent mouth, my index finger stroking his cheek with soft and lazy intimacy. I could feel his irritation at my tardiness slowly beginning to dissipate and he kissed me back with equal tenderness, his fingers trailing soft patterns up my arm until I could feel them slide over my cheek and into my hair.

"Good morning, Phoenix," he said a little breathlessly when we parted briefly, his dark grey eyes looking deeply into my blue ones, the ghost of a smile tugging at his lips.

I couldn't help it; my heart skipped a beat and I held my breath. His eyes glittered with an intensity that thrilled me as he leaned in once again, a crooked grin on his face, and pressed soft, butterfly kisses against my mouth in quick tandem, his fingers tightening on the back of my head.

"You seem to be in a much better mood," I remarked rather saucily after we'd parted, rubbing the tip of my nose against his and chuckled as he rolled his eyes, his fingers slowly sliding down my neck as he released me. I couldn't understand why but I felt the imp of perversity strike me for some reason at that moment; I had the overwhelming urge to tease him, mostly to get a rise out of him but also, I admit, to get _another_ kind of reaction out of him. A much less... _honorable_ one, so to speak.

He took life much too seriously by halves sometimes and I felt obligated to needle him every now and again just to remind him that work _wasn't_ everything and life _could_ be good, too, despite all the pain and sorrow we'd seen coming in and out of our door with our various clients.

He sighed with exasperation and I couldn't help chuckling at the pouty look he had on his face. I was immediately rewarded with a sour grimace as he opened his mouth to begin a remonstrance but I quickly leaned forward, kissing his lips to silence him. I fully intended to make the most of this opportunity and I wasn't about to let it go to waste.

I could feel his eyes widen in surprise as our lips met at this quite unexpected kiss but felt them gently flutter closed soon after I gently pushed him back down onto the mattress, clambering on top of him and pulling the quilt over the both of us. I lowered my head and trailed hot, lazy kisses over his neck and collarbone, grinning when I heard his sharp intake of breath.

_Match,_ I thought happily to myself as I felt him stiffen. I kissed him again, letting my fingers slide slowly over his shoulders, my mouth following suit. It wasn't long before he was quivering with undeniable need and desire and I was more than happy to oblige him.

I reached over to the night table beside the bed where I kept a bottle of lotion handy, squeezed some out and pressed a finger slowly into him, gently moving it in and out. His breathing quickened as I scissored in and out of him, quickly adding a second and he moaned as I did so.

I grinned as I applied some to my hardness and then gently took him, biting his shoulder hard as he buried his face in the pillow, screaming his pleasure as it washed over us.

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_9:29 A.M._

Some time after, as we lay in each others arms sated and sweaty from our exertions, our housekeeper, Mrs. Cameron, knocked discreetly on the door, her soft, muffled voice asking if we were up yet. I groaned under my breath as I closed my eyes and cursing her efficiency.

A buxom widow of some years with salt and pepper hair and a kindly, round face, she had nine grown children who lived in different parts of the country with families of their own and had been working for us for three years. She was a most most devoted, conscientious and capable employee and, while I normally I appreciated her efficiency, today, however, was _not_ one of those days.

_Damn it!_ I thought with irritation. _What awful timing!_

Miles cursed under his breath as we untangled ourselves and I rolled over away from him, covering my eyes with my hand at the rays of watery sunlight that streamed in through the closed window. "Yes?"

"Begging your pardon, Sir," she said apologetically from the other side, "but there's a young lady here that says she has an appointment to see you and Mr. Wright this morning at ten o'clock."

Miles gritted his teeth. "What time is it?"

"It's nearly nine-thirty now, Sir."

Miles gave me a dark look while I looked intently at the spackled ceiling. "Then give her some tea and some biscuits, if we have them, and we'll be down shortly," Miles responded as I scrambled out of bed, pulling on my long underwear and trousers, he following shortly after me. "And," he added as he heard her still lingering outside the door, "next time give me a little more advanced warning when you disturb me in my room." He gave me the gimlet eye when he said it while I looked at the ceiling. "I don't like surprises."

"Yes, Sir." We could hear her moving down the hallway, her square heels clicking on the marbled floor until we heard the unmistakable sound of her walking down the oak stairs that led to the main foyer which shortly died into silence.

Miles glared at me while he quickly dressed, shrugging into his shirt and cravat with liquid grace and washing himself quickly at the wash basin that Mrs. Cameron had thoughtfully provided the night before. He picked up the thick white towel that lay next to the basin and patted his face dry before tossing the towel over to me and indicating that I should hurry up and get washed up before the Amazon came back.

I rolled my eyes at him but did as I as he suggested, washing and drying my face quickly and then wrestled with my vest that Miles helped me to put on before he finished dressing himself. He gave me a look as I struggled to tie my cravat for a few moments before he pushed my hands impatiently out of the way and finished it himself.

I couldn't help but admire the way he tied the blasted thing so quickly and easily when I was lucky if I could struggle through it in ten minutes. After he was done, I ran my fingers through my black hair until I was satisfied that they were at their spiky best in the small bronze mirror that hung on the wall behind the wash basin.

I grinned at the look on his face but he made no comment as I put on my shoes and quickly laced them. I sailed past him, planting a kiss on his lips as I did so and heard him muttering under his breath as I passed by.

I thought I heard him say something rude in my direction behind my retreating back but I wasn't sure and I hadn't time to think of that now as we both walked down the hall, down the stairs and into the main foyer where we saw Mrs. Cameron and our client.


	2. The Client's Request

_May 2, 1888  
Phoenix Wright & Miles Edgeworth Residence  
Receiving Office  
10 A.M._

Mrs. Cameron was pouring tea from the rose encircled china tea pot that had been in Miles' family for generations into two dainty china cups with a dish of lemon slices, a silver dish with sugar cubes, a plate of crisp biscuits and cake and a pitcher of cream on the table in front of them. I was glad to see that two other cups and saucers set aside for us and I mentally thanked her for her thoughtfulness since we hadn't had time to have breakfast before our client had arrived.

Mrs. Cameron certainly knew how to put on a good spread and I could feel my mouth watering as I looked at the assortment. Despite what Miles said about her, I liked Mrs. Cameron and I couldn't wait to tuck into her delicious cake and biscuits since we hadn't had time to have breakfast before our client had arrived.

"There you go, dear," she said warmly to the pale young lady that sat in the blue damask chair in the corner of the room we had set aside for our clientele and we heard her mumbled reply as we walked into the room. "Here they are now: Mr. Wright" -she indicated me with a wave of her hand and I bowed slightly-" and Mr. Edgeworth."

Miles did the same. "How do you do, Miss-?"

"Young. Helena Young." Her voice was pleasant and melodic though it did have an odd quality to it that I found interesting; even Miles raised an eyebrow. "I was born in Brewer, Maine and have lived in California for quite some time." Her voice had an interesting, musical lilt to it and I couldn't help noticing the slight accent that I couldn't quite place and, glancing out of the corner of my eye, I could see that Miles had the same reaction that I did.

"Miss Young, how may we be of service to you?" Miles asked as he walked over to one of the unoccupied chairs in the middle of the room and waved me toward the other one and sat down, I quickly following suit as I helped myself to both tea and cake while we waited for the young lady to speak.

She lifted the tea cup to her lips and took a sip and I couldn't help but notice that her fingers trembled as she did so.

My eyebrow lifted as I looked inquiringly at Miles who nodded grimly as we waited for Miss Young to put down the tea cup on the saucer that sat in her lap.

"I want you to find someone for me, Mr. Edgeworth," she said, coming straight to the point. "I haven't seen him for a very long time and I want you and Mr. Wright to find out where he went and what happened to him."

Miles' eyebrow rose and I knew the thought that was going through his head at that moment since the same thought had occurred to me: the way that she had phrased it, and the bite in her voice that had accompanied it, made it very clear that she feared that some unhappy fate had probably overcome this person and quite possibly at the hands of someone she either knew or had known.

"Indeed?" Miles was silent for a moment while I took a bite of cake and a swig of tea, chewing and swallowing quickly before taking another sip. "You fear that something happened to this person?"

She nodded and quickly took another sip of tea, putting the tea cup down with a clatter on the saucer.

"My fiance," she said and I didn't miss the pain in either her voice or expression as she said that. "He disappeared a few years ago with no word." She looked unhappy. "We were to have been married later that month at the time of his disappearance and I want to know what happened to him and where he is, if either is possible after all this time."

Even though a black veil partially obscured her features, I could see that she was a very attractive young woman with delicate, porcelain skin, cerulean blue eyes, a cupid bow mouth and golden hair done in a proper knot at the nape of her neck. She was a classical vision of beauty and I wondered why her intended would have left her before they were to wed.

"All this time?" I repeated, pouring myself another cup of tea after I had drained the first, earning a scornful look from Miles that I chose to ignore, adding a cube of sugar and a dollop of cream, stirring quickly. "How long has it been since you've seen him?"

"Many, many years," she replied quietly and I noticed that her hand trembled as she said those words, her thin shoulders beginning to shake. I quickly set down my tea cup and went over to her, laying my hand comfortingly on her shoulder.

A puzzled look crossed Miles' face but he made no comment as he took in the discrepancy between the number of years that her fiance had been missing to the youthful apparition that sat in the chair in front of us since she didn't look a day over twenty.

"What is, or was, his name, Miss Young?" Miles brought us straight back to business, his fingers steepled together in front underneath his chin.

"Jonathan. Jonathan Williams. His address is 15 Carter Street," she replied softly, her voice catching slightly.

I could hear her sniffling behind the black veil that covered her face and I reached into my pocket, pulling out my blue silk handkerchief with my initials "PW" embroidered in delicate script in the right hand corner. Miles had given me the handkerchief as a gift for my birthday last year and I carried it everywhere I went.

She looked up at me gratefully as she accepted the handkerchief and quickly raised the veil, pulling it back so that it lay over the crown of her hat. She dabbed her eyes, murmuring her thanks as she handed it back to me. I was amazed at how much feeling was reflected in her blue eyes.

"Believe it or not, Mr. Edgeworth," she said after some moments of silence, "I _still_ love him after all this time even though..." She faltered and quickly took another sip of tea, Miles and I exchanging looks over her head.

_Something_ tragic must have happened to separate them and I wasn't sure exactly what that might have been and, from the look on his face, neither did Miles but we both had the same thought in our minds that neither of us had the heart to tell Miss Young at this point: that we feared the reason she hadn't seen him for all these years was because he was already, and had been for some time, dead.

She must have seen the direction that our thoughts had taken since her face fell and tears formed in her eyes. We hastened to assure her that we would be happy to take her case and would start that very day with our investigation.

She looked at us both in turn gratefully as she finished her tea and stood, extending her hand to each of us in turn and thanking us for our help, the saucer with the tea cup held in her right.

Mrs. Cameron returned and, seeing as how the young woman was ready to leave, she quickly retrieved her grey wollen cloak from the hallway and helped her put it on.

Before she left, Miss Young turned to us and, with a beaming smile said, "I can't thank you two gentlemen enough for your kindness and for taking my case." Her smile faltered a little. "He means the world to me, Mr. Edgeworth and Mr. Wright, and I really want to know where he is." She paused one final time, placing the saucer with tea cup on the table, her hands clasped together in front of her. "I can't pay you much but I will gladly give you all I have... _if _you can find him."

Miles waved his hand at that last bit. "There's no need for that, Miss Young; we'll be happy to do what we can." Miles rose and I followed suit. "We'll find him, Miss Young, if we can but there is the possibility that we might not be able to locate him or, conversely, we find out he is dead."

She sucked in her breath at these words but Miles didn't shrink from the uncomfortable truth; no matter how hard it might be to face that possibility, she had to know upfront that it was by no means certain that he was dead but it could very possibly be the truth.

After a moment of tense silence we knew that Miss Young appreciated his honesty since she nodded quickly and turned to face us.

"Thank you for your honesty, Mr. Edgeworth. I appreciate it very much." She said after a moment of tense silence. She took a deep breath and looked up into the slate grey sky, watching raindrops spattering against the cobblestone sidewalk outside for a few moments before she looked at us again and smiled that dazzling smile. "I'll be waiting for the results of your investigation at this address-" she handed me a pastel blue calling card with her name printed on it in elegant script in between sprays of roses gracing the top and bottom - "so please look me up once you are done."

"We'll do that, Miss Young," Miles promised and I nodded in agreement. She extended her hand once again and we both shook it in turn, watching her as she opened her umbrella and, holding it over her head, walking quickly down the street where she vanished from sight.

We watched her retreating back for awhile and, once she was gone, we turned in tandem and went back inside the house, closing the door firmly behind us. We didn't speak as we walked into the dining area where Mrs. Cameron had set out our breakfast and the morning paper on the large, rectangular table.

We ate in silence for some time, each thinking our own private thoughts and didn't speak again until Mrs. Cameron had poured us each a cup of coffee and left the room, taking the remnants of our breakfast and the dishes we had used with her.

"A penny for your thoughts," I said teasingly, taking a large sip of coffee and biting into a delicious cranberry scone with relish, chewing happily.

Miles smiled tightly as he took a sip of his, putting down the coffee cup on the saucer with a soft 'click.' He had quite a serious expression on his face and I couldn't help but wonder why and I resolved to ask him after I swallowed the bit of scone.

"You have quite a serious expression on your face, Miles," I said, concern lacing my tone as I watched him take a large gulp of coffee. "Would you mind telling me what you're thinking?"

"I'm of two minds on this whole case, Phoenix," he said after some moments of silence, "and I have a _very_ odd feeling about it... and Miss Young, herself."

I was surprised and let it show in the expression on my face.

"Really? How so?" I took another large bite. "I thought that she was a perfectly charming, and attractive young lady whose suitor got cold feet and left before they were to be wed." I swallowed quickly, took another gulp of coffee and yet another bite. "I don't see what the mystery could possibly be... unless you're going to tell me that something is "afoot," to use Conan Doyle's famous expression."

He didn't answer me right away and I knew from the look on his face that he was thinking very seriously about the problem that faced us and I waited patiently for him to formulate his thoughts, knowing that he would tell me in his own good time what he was thinking.

"It's rather hard to explain," he began after a few moments more of silence, his brow furrowed, "but I just can't shake the feeling that I have seen this young lady somewhere before and that I _should_ know her from someplace but I can't put my finger exactly on _where_."

My eyebrow raised as I finished my cup of coffee and poured myself another one. I hadn't missed the way he had phrased that and I couldn't help wondering where this was all leading to.

"Sounds like a case of deja vu to me," I said lightly and was rewarded with a sour look.

"I wasn't being facetious, Phoenix," he retorted and I hastened to apologize when I saw the serious look on his face, "I really _do_ have an odd feeling that I have seen this young woman somewhere before and that I should know her although I couldn't really tell you _why_."

I leaned over and patted his hand reassuringly, running my fingers over the back of his hand slowly.

"Don't worry too much about it, Miles; you'll figure it out in due course." I smiled at him before I leaned over and planted a kiss on his lips that, after a moment, he warmly returned. "Besides, I like the thought of spending the afternoon with you even though we'll be working." I grinned at him, winking roguishly and waggling my eyebrows suggestively and he couldn't help but laugh. "Gives me more time to appreciate that delicious body of yours and how much fun I'm going to have taking your clothing _off _later on tonight."

"Honestly, Phoenix!" He blushed a beet red at my rather risque words but I could tell that the thought excited him, too. We had to be very careful about expressing our true affection in public but, behind closed doors in the privacy of our own home, we expressed it freely and without reservations.

"Be careful of the Amazon," he said, a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth, lacing his fingers with mine. "The last thing we need is for her to march in here and catch us holding hands."

I snorted. "Who cares? If she sees, she sees. What's she going to do, tell?" I looked hard at him. "First of all, she's a damned good housekeeper, a first rate cook and a fine person to boot. Secondly, the clients we've had come to the house like her; she always treats each person who walks through our door with respect and refreshments. Thirdly, she always knocks first before she enters a room so we know that she's there and can conduct ourselves accordingly; fourthly, I happen to like her and I know that she likes both of us, despite _your_ assertions to the contrary and, fifthly, I know for a fact that she likes working for us so even if she did see something, she wouldn't say anything since she wouldn't want to lose her place with us." I gave him the gimlet eye. "And please tell me why you keep referring to her as the Amazon. I happen to know that Mrs. Cameron thinks the world of _you_ and speaks very highly of _you_, as well."

He muttered something under his breath but didn't say another word as he picked up his cup and finished the coffee in it. He dabbed the sides of his mouth and wiped his fingers on his napkin before placing it on the plate and stood, his fingers sliding from mine. I finished my coffee as well and stood, walking quickly behind him. He made his way out of the dining room and into the hallway, calling for his cloak and top hat which Mrs. Cameron brought out to him quickly and efficiently along with my overcoat and bowler hat which she handed to me with a smile.

I thanked her for it and quickly threw it on while Miles did the same, putting the hat on with an debonaire flair and grabbing his ebony walking stick and an umbrella from the rack that lay next to the front door and walking quickly out.

A few steps down the stairs, he stopped, turning to look up at Mrs. Cameron who stood by the front door. He told her that we would be busy this afternoon and would grab a quick bite out so she didn't need to make lunch for us, adding that she could have the afternoon off if she so desired.

She thanked him profusely as she turned and went back inside the house and I couldn't help but grin as I followed Miles, the rain falling in fat drops around us. He opened the umbrella and held it over the two of us as we made our way down the street.

Little did we know then but we had taken on a most unusual case, from a most unusual client, that would later turn out to be a _very _interesting investigation, indeed.


	3. Discoveries

_May 3, 1888  
Library  
Room of Records  
3 P.M._

"This doesn't make any sense." I looked up from the large leather bound book that I had opened on the table before me to see Miles looking quite perplexed over something he'd read in the book that lay open in front of him.

"What doesn't?" I asked in a low tone, genuinely curious as I glanced over at him frowning over something that he was reading. I was grateful for the break since my eyes were starting to hurt from staring at the small elegant script that the records were written although I refused to admit any of this to Miles. Knowing him like I did, I figured that he would probably already know, or would soon figure out, that I needed to rest my eyes and would act accordingly.

"This," he replied, pointing to a passage on the cream colored page that lay open. I followed to where he was pointing and saw the following: "_Helena Young, daughter of Amos A. Young, of Brewer, Maine. Born: April 15, 1839 Died: May 20, 1850 at the tender age of eleven years, one month and five days. Cause: unknown._"

I frowned. Miles was right; _something_ really didn't square with the information we'd been given but I wasn't really certain exactly what that meant or what this had to do with our investigation into the whereabouts of Helena Young's missing fiance.

I chewed on my lower lip thoughtfully, my fingers lying on top of the page, tapping an unconscious rhythm. I thought about what I was going to say since I wanted to make sure that I expressed myself, and my thoughts, properly. I could feel Miles' dark grey eyes boring into me from across the table and I could tell that he was impatiently waiting for me to compose myself before I started speaking.

"I admit," I began slowly, composing my thoughts as I went along, "that it is indeed a very curious coincidence that the names are the same but, other than sharing the same name, and the same address, what else is there that stands out as being odd?"

Miles looked at me, his eyebrow raising, his eyes narrowing.

"Isn't that enough?"

I squirmed a little under that penetrating gaze.

"There is another possible explanation," I said, feeling my face burning.

"Which is?" His voice was quiet but alive with intensity.

"It could possibly be a sibling who died before Miss Young was born and her parents gave her the same name."

He nodded slowly after a few moments and I felt a surge of pleasure flash through me. It was, as Miles agreed, a very common occurrence and it was possible that this particular Helena Young had been the present Helena Young's deceased sibling; per the custom of the day, her parents had simply given her the same name.

"Still, it is curious." Miles looked at me. "And why didn't she mention this when she talked with us earlier?"

_He does have a point,_ I thought, my brow furrowing. _Why didn't she mention that she had a deceased sibling? Is she even aware that she had one whom she was named for?_ I boxed my hand under my chin, considering the options open to us at this point. _If she isn't aware that she had a deceased sibling, then how was she named? Who gave her that name? Or, to go to the logical end, is that even what her real name is?_

"You see the problem that we're faced with here, Phoenix?" Miles had correctly discerned the direction in which my thoughts were going and it was clear that he shared those same thoughts himself. "If that is her real name, it begs the question as to who _this_ Helena Young listed here is and _why_ she didn't tell us about her."

"I do," I said slowly, my mind whirling with implications. "If this is the real Helena Young, she has to know who it was that she was named for but the fact that she didn't mention it makes the omission a _very_ curious one." I was babbling and I knew but, for once, Miles didn't call me on it.

"Curious, indeed." Miles closed the book with a soft 'whumping' sound, picked it up and walked over to my side of the table, his face a kaleidoscope of warring emotions; I didn't miss the fluctuation in his voice, either. He hated being lied to and made mock of; given the secret that we were both keeping quiet in regards to the relationship we had with each other, I couldn't really blame him all that much.

"Miles." I put my hand on his shoulder and he stopped, his jaw tightening, his fingers tightening on the book so hard that his knuckles were turning white. "let's not jump to any hasty conclusions before we have all the facts." His eyes flickered to look at me and back again. I knew he was angry and I was trying to diffuse it before it had a chance to get started.

I couldn't blame him; I was also feeling angry myself since it seemed that, on the face of it, that we had been lied to although I couldn't really fathom the reason why. It didn't make _any_ sense. What would she have gained by lying to us in the first place, knowing that, sooner or later, her deception would have been exposed?

She didn't appear to be a foolish woman; on the contrary, she seemed sensible and logical. Why would she knowingly lie to us and then set us on a course where we would find out she hadn't been telling us the truth in the first place?

"It doesn't make any sense." He said it flatly, with no inflection in his voice, just a statement of fact.

"I agree. It doesn't." I was silent a moment before I spoke again. "And I can't for the life of me think of any reason why she would have lied to us in the first place and set us on this wild goose chase, knowing that we would find out sooner or later if she was being deceptive."

Miles nodded as he walked slowly toward the large desk in the center of the library and handed the glowering librarian the book who took it with a stiff nod and tight lipped smile. I quickly handed her the book I was holding in my hand as well and turned to follow Miles out into the chilly afternoon.

We stopped for a bite to eat at the nearest pub and a hot drink before setting out again, this time to the public records office in the downtown area. We found the same name with the same information there and in the five other places that we searched during the course of that afternoon which brought up a very interesting question: _why_ had she lied to us?

Everywhere we looked, no matter where or in what record book, it was always the same: _no_ Helena Young from Brewer, Maine appeared _after_ the year 1850. By the time we arrived home at eight o'clock that evening after having spent the afternoon walking from one end of the city to the other, we were tired and looking forward to stopping for the night. We'd put in a solid day of investigation with no visible leads at the beginning and too many unanswered questions at the end.

The question lingered with us all through dinner, each of us thinking our own thoughts but the looming question was on both of our minds... and we couldn't come up with an answer that made any sense. She hadn't seemed to be the type to deceive and we were both genuinely perplexed, and upset, by the implications.

We retired to the library after dinner where we opened a bottle of port and drank it leisurely, discussing the possible solution to the problem. We didn't want to confront Miss Young until we had investigated every angle that we had available to us before we confronted her.

Who knew but perhaps the answer to our question lay in some long forgotten and dusty cellar of some records office somewhere and there were at least two more that we knew of, and possibly three with the old church on the corner, that might help us to clear up the mystery over why no Helena Young from Brewer, Maine appeared anywhere after 1850.

It was with much lighter hearts that we retired to bed at ten o'clock, wishing Mrs. Cameron a good evening-she never went to bed before eleven o'clock-and retiring to our bedroom and closing the door. It was with a sense of desperation that we fell into each others arms, explored each others bodies before joining together. We well asleep soon after, clasped tightly together.

**XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

_May 4, 1888_

We woke late the next morning of May fourth and scrambled out of bed, dressing quickly and rushing downstairs. Mrs. Cameron wasn't up yet so we let her sleep. We plundered the icebox for yesterday's leftovers and made short work of them before rushing out the door for the second day of investigation.

Over the next four days, we stopped at the records offices throughout the city, including one on the corner and one near the bank in the heart of the district but at all the places we looked, as before, we ran into the same problem: there was _no_ mention of Helena Young after the year 1850.

"Well, I'm flummoxed," I said wearily after poring through four boxes crammed full of papers. "There isn't any mention of her anywhere after 1850 and I don't know what else to think except-"

"-That she's lied to us for some reason of her own," Miles finished for me, a scowl crossing his features.

I nodded, rubbing my eyes before replacing the lid on the top of the box and carrying it back to its proper place on the dusty shelf.

"That's how it appears." I turned and made my way to where he stood, arms crossed over his chest, his index finger tapping an impatient rhythm on his arm. "The question is: why? I still don't understand why she would do such a thing knowing that we would find out sooner or later that she was lying."

I sighed as reached over, pulled a fresh box over to me and dug in. "It keeps coming back to that and I don't have an answer." I groaned as I flipped through the fat sheaf of papers I had in my hand. "We keep going around in circles and keep coming back to the same point. I'm beginning to feel like a dog endlessly chasing its tail!"

"I agree." Miles took off the lid of his box and pulled out three stacks of papers and set them, one at a time, on the table in front of him, his brow furrowed in concentration as he looked through them. "And I don't mind telling you that I find it extremely irritating feeling like we're being fed a lie and sent on a wild goose chase for God knows what reason."

He bit his lip as he replaced one stack of papers and pulled out another. "I'd rather being doing something productive than wasting my time running around the city on a fool's errand."

"At least we're getting some exercise," I joked as I pulled out two more stacks, "so Mrs. Cameron doesn't have to nag us about that, at least." I really liked Mrs. Cameron but I had to admit that sometimes I found her meddling ways tiresome; she seemed to think of both Miles and myself as her sons and acted accordingly which meant unsolicited advice coupled with nagging that regularly drove us both to distraction.

"Thank God for small favors," he muttered sourly and I chuckled as I leaned over the next sheaf of papers, using a pince-nez in order to read it since my eyes were very tired for reading so much. It did make reading the rather faded writing much easier to read which made my job considerably easier.

Three hours later, we left and made our way to the corner pub for another quick bite and then took the trolley car over to the opposite end of the city and walked the three blocks to the church on the corner where, we fervently hoped, we would find the answer that we were so desperately seeking and find a solution to the mystery that we faced: Just _who_ was Helena Young and _why_ didn't she appear anywhere _after_ the year 1850?

The woman that we talked to in our reception room was twenty-five years of age which was odd since the other Helena Young we discovered through records had died at the age of eleven in 1850, thirty-eight years earlier. If she was the real Helena Young, she would have had to have been born before 1850 but that would have made her considerably older than twenty-five.

With these and other questions spinning through my mind, I wasn't sure exactly what to expect but I didn't hold out much hope that we would find anything of value in the old church. We used the knocker on the vicarage that stood behind the church and a kindly old rector answered the door, inviting us in for tea and cake after we told him who we were and why we were there.

After we were refreshed, he took us into the old church and, with a lit lantern in hand, opened the door to the old cellar and proceeded to walk down. It was pitch black down there but he seemed to know where to go-I thought that he had been here long enough to know his way around pretty well-and Miles and I followed close behind him as he walked quickly through the maze of rooms until we came to a weathered oak door with a large lock on it.

The vicar stopped and put down the lantern, rummaging around in his pocket for a moment before producing a large, ornate key weathered with age, put it into the lock and turned it, sending a metallic squeal of protest that sent shivers down our backs.

He smiled as he pushed the door open and gestured for us to walk inside. He handed us the lantern on our way in and told us that, once we were done, we were to call him and he would come to take us back upstairs after which he would lock the room back up properly.

We waited until his footsteps faded into the distance before heading toward the shelves that stood in the back of the small room. The shelves were coated with a thick layer of dust and it soon became apparent that no one had been to this room in many years, decades, perhaps, given the cobwebs that criss-crossed over our heads on the ceiling above.

"Here, take this," Miles said, handing me the lantern and I did so while he walked into the room adjacent and came back, his arms full with four boxes crammed to the top with papers.

I sighed as I followed him to the large table near the window which provided a certain measure of extra light. The light was dim and, even with the lantern, shadows still flitted over the stone walls even though it was early afternoon. He set the boxes down with a loud thump, disturbing the dust that had accumulated on the table itself and right into our faces.

After some time of coughing and sputtering, we finally managed to clear our lungs and concentrating on the task at hand. I placed the lantern on the table beside the ten neat piles that Miles had made, stacking the sheafs four stacks high.

"Here." Miles pointed to the three piles that were nearest me and I looked down, groaning loudly at how high they were. "Begin with these and I'll start over here with these." He ignored me and set to work on his own piles of papers, flipping through them with a will. I watched him for a few minutes before I set to work on my own, grousing under my breath and hoping he didn't hear me.

"What are we looking for, _exactly_?" I asked grumpily, sneezing as a lone dust mote tickled my nose as it drifted past.

"Proof," he returned shortly, setting the completed stacks over to one side before beginning on another.

"I doubt that we're going to find anything here that we haven't been able to find anywhere else in the city." My tone was sarcastic which was pretty much the same way that I felt at this point.

"Maybe not but we've looked everywhere else and this is the last place that we have to look in." Miles was nonplussed as he hunted around the piles of paper. "If we're incredibly lucky, we'll find what we're looking for."

I doubted it but I kept my opinions to myself as we continued the search. By the end of it later that afternoon, I was beginning to think that we were on a fool's errand and that we weren't likely to find anything new or out of the ordinary that we already hadn't found elsewhere earlier in the day. I was feeling tired and very cranky by this time and I was about to hurl the papers I held in my hand to the floor in a fit of temper when Miles stopped me with a startled exclamation.

My head whipped around to see him standing there, a piece of faded parchment held tightly in his hand, his eyes wide, a triumphant expression on his face.

"Phoenix," he said, his voice tremulous, excitement clear in his tone, "I've found it!"

"Found what?" I returned grumpily as I began to place the papers in uneven piles. I was sore, tired and hungry not to mention that my nose felt like it was the size of an apple from all the dust.

"What we've been looking for these past two days! I've found it at last!"

"What?" My eyes widened as the full implication of what he'd said began to sink fully in at last and my mouth dropped open when I saw the paper he held in his hand.

"Just what I said," he said patiently as he handed me the piece of parchment and I took it from him, squinting to see the words printed on it in faded ink.

"What-" I began but he cut me off with an impatient wave of his hand.

"Just read it, Phoenix," he said tartly and stood there with his arms crossed over his chest, tapping the inside of his arm with his index finger.

"All right," I returned and walked slowly over toward the lantern, holding the paper down next to the flickering light in order to read it better.

"Read it," Miles' voice ordered somewhere in the gloom and I obeyed, squinting harder in order to read it better in the dim light.

"_Charity Young, beloved wife of Amos A. Young of Brewer, Maine..."_ I recited obediently, squinting to see the faint words in elegant script that had faded with time. I paused for a moment, licked my lips and leaned in closer to the light since the faded writing was very difficult to read. "_...deceased July 15, 1839. Cause: death in... childbirth..._"

I looked at Miles, a puzzled look on my face. "So what does this have to do with anything? I don't understand what you're so excited about."

"Read on," was all he said and I did but I still couldn't see what he was all fired up about and said as much. All he said was to keep on reading so I did, wondering why it seemed that my normally intelligent lover had lost his mind since I couldn't see anything out of the ordinary... until I came to six paragraphs _above_ the bottom of the page.

My hand, clutching the parchment, began to tremble as the full implications began to slowly sink in and I could dimly make out the triumphant smile that was spreading across Miles' face.

"Do you understand now, Phoenix?" he asked, his voice surprisingly gentle.

I swallowed hard and whispered, "Yes." I couldn't say anything else as I looked down at the faded parchment once more, my heart pounding in my chest.

"_Helena Amelia Young, beloved daughter of Amos A. Young of Brewer, Maine. Born: November 20, 1810. Died: August 29, 1835. Cause: lost her reason due to broken heart. Died: California. Age: 25 years, nine months and... _." I couldn't make out the rest.

We'd found the answer we were looking for at last. The question now was: what did it mean? And something else that nagged at us: Was the young woman who had come to ask for our help, the _real_ Helena A. Young? And what, exactly, did "Lost her reason due to a broken heart" mean?

Miles flipped the parchment over, looking at a daguerreotype that had been attached to the form. I was busy looking at my sheaf that I wasn't aware that Miles had found something until I heard his startled exclamation. I whirled around.

"What is it?" I asked, my eyes narrowing as I took in the shocked expression on his face.

Without a word, Miles handed me the parchment, saying only, "Turn it over."

My eyebrow raised and I looked to Miles for some confirmation as I took the parchment but he just shook his head and waited while I turned it over, looking at the daguerreotype. There, preserved in black and white, was the woman who had come to our office to hire us to find her missing fiance.

"What-?" I started to say but stopped when I turned the photograph over, my eyes widening at the faded writing on the back. "_My Sweet Child Helena A. Young. 1810-1835. Rest in God, Dear Child, Who Wipes Away All Tears, Until We Meet Again. Your Loving Father, Amos._"

I stood stock still in stupefied silence for some time, my mouth working but with no words emerging. The final piece of the puzzle had fallen into place and I was stunned at the ramifications. I handed the parchment back to Miles without comment, watching as he put it carefully away with the other papers in the box.

I didn't know what Miles was thinking but I know what was going through mine. The Helena Young that had died in 1850 _wasn't_ the original Helena Young as we had thought once we'd started our investigation; she'd had a sister who died four years before she had been born.

The Helena Young who had been born in 1839 had been the _replacement_ for the sister who had died four years earlier.

"Miles, this photograph. It's... _her_, isn't it? Helena Young."

Miles nodded.

My mouth went dry. "Then... this means that..." I couldn't continue but Miles nodded, just the same.

It all came back to the same startling conclusion. We'd seen, and been hired by, a ghost.


	4. We've Been Hired By A Ghost

_A/N: "Friend of Ganymede' is Victorian slang for homosexual._

_XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX_

_May 8, 1888_

We took the relevant parchment that we needed and packed up the rest in an uneasy silence. Once we had completed our task and put the boxes back on the dusty shelves where they belonged, we opened the door and called out to the rector whom we knew to be in one of the rooms. Presently, we heard his faint voice acknowledge our call and we waited in the gloom, his footsteps coming toward us.

Miles was silent for some time and I wondered what he was thinking about although I had a good idea what was oppressing him at this point since the same thought was on my mind, too.

I looked at him.

"It's a puzzle worthy of Sherlock Holmes," I mused and Miles nodded in agreement. "_Nothing_ about this case makes any sense and I'm hard pressed to come up with a reasonable explanation for the facts that we _do_ have."

"Agreed." Miles looked thoughtful as he considered the facts of the case as they stood now. It was a puzzle, to be sure, and neither of us had any idea of how this would ultimately play out or even if the young woman who had claimed to be Helena Young really _was_ Helena Young. Everything, I noticed, kept coming back to this same point and I'd be damned if I could figure out what it all meant, logically speaking.

I didn't speak for some time, chaotic and nonsensical thoughts whirling through my head. It all came back to the same conclusion and it was one that I, at least at this point, refused to accept: we'd been hired by a ghost. That was the _only_ thing that made _any_ sense.

"What are you thinking, Phoenix?" I heard Miles' voice ask and it shook me out of my reverie.

"Nonsensical things," I replied, pinching the bridge of my nose with my fingers and closing my eyes for a moment before opening them again.

"Which are...?"

"We've been hired by a ghost."

After a few moments of stunned silence, Miles' eyebrow rose.

"A... _ghost_?" I didn't miss the dismissive tone as he said it and I bristled at what the tone insinuated.

"I _told_ you they were nonsensical," I retorted, "but its the only thing that makes _any_ logical sense!" I grabbed a box, marched across the room and put it back on the shelf, disturbing a layer of dust that flew in the air around me. "How else can you explain that a woman, granted if it actually _is_ the same woman, who's been dead for fifty-three years, mind you, just happened to saunter into our office and hire us to find someone who might also be just as dead!"

Miles was about to say something, whether it was a retort or an apology I wasn't certain, when we heard the rector's footsteps outside the door, making his way through the warren of mazes to where we stood and clamped his mouth shut. I looked at him but made no other comment as we followed the rector out. We shook hands with him at the door, thanked him for his kindness and hospitality and told him we would bring back the parchment once our investigation was complete.

We didn't speak on the half hour long trolley car ride back to the city outskirts, walking the rest of the way home in silence. We didn't hear Mrs. Cameron's worried voice giving us both an earful for not getting her up that morning, for leaving without letting her know where we were going and wondering what on earth we'd been doing all day.

I don't really remember much else of dinner that night or even what it was that we ate or of the evening itself since we were so bound up in our own thoughts and it wasn't until we were relaxing in the library with two snifters of port that either of us spoke. Curiously enough, it was Mrs. Cameron who opened the discussion when she brought in a tray of cake and biscuits.

"Thank you, Mrs. Cameron," Miles said absently, his mind a million miles away as she set the tray down on the table in front of us and stood up, turning to leave and then stopping before she'd gotten a few steps away. She had a most curious expression on her face as she turned to face us, her hands clasped together in front of her simple black ankle-length dress with frilly white apron.

"You're welcome, Sir." She hesitated a moment and my hand froze over the tray. I had the sinking feeling that she was about to tell us something... and that we _weren't_ going to like it one bit.

Miles raised an eyebrow.

"Mrs. Cameron?" Miles prompted, his face a stone mask and I couldn't help but wonder what was going through his mind since his face was closed, expressionless. He was at his most formal when he did this and I waited with baited breath, my hand trembling in the air over the silver tray.

"It's...it's about the young lady, Sir."

My eyebrow rose as I sat back, my eyes flickering over to see the same puzzled expression spreading over Miles' face. Whatever it was that he was expecting her to say, _this_ wasn't what he was expecting at all.

I let my breath out with a loud 'whoosh' of relief.

"Thank God!" I exclaimed, reaching over and grabbing a piece of cake and three biscuits and putting them hurriedly on the blue china plate in front of me, startled looks on both Mrs. Cameron's and Miles' faces appearing simultaneously. It was rather amusing, actually.

"Mr. Wright?"

I smiled at Mrs. Cameron, noting the strained and puzzled look on her face. "I was afraid that you were giving us notice that you were leaving," I explained, taking a large bite of cake, chewing and swallowing. "That's what I _thought_ you were going to say."

Spots of color rose in her cheeks. "Oh no, Sir!" she exclaimed, her hands beginning to tremble with emotion. "I'm _very_ happy working for you and Mr. Edgeworth!" She smiled shakily, tears beginning to form in the corners of her eyes. "Truth be told, Sir, you and Mr. Edgeworth are like sons to me and the nearest thing to family that I have."

_Told you,_ I thought again smugly at Miles, my lips twitching as I took another bite and swallowed, reaching for the nearest biscuit.

She took another deep breath. "You see, Sir, ever since my Tom died a few years back, I was lost and at loose ends. My children are all grown and have lives of their own and I was lonely... until you advertised in the newspaper for a Housekeeper." She smiled at each of us in turn, Miles' face reflecting the shock he felt and I couldn't help feeling a little smug about that. Which, on the whole, made me feel better. "I've not been happier than I am here under your roof and it would please me very much to stay here with you gentlemen. _If..._ you will have me, that is." She paused expectantly, worry lines furrowing her forehead.

I gave her a warm smile and nodded without comment, my eyes flickering over to Miles who also nodded, too stunned to speak. A look of profound relief spread over her face and she fished in her pocket for a handkerchief with which to dab her moistening eyes, her fingers trembling slightly as she did so.

"Thank you, Mr. Wright, Mr. Edgeworth," she said, her voice heavy with unspoken gratitude, grasping her hands together in front of her once again.

The emotion in the room was palpable and Miles broke it a few minutes later, wishing to get back to the matter at hand although I could see the blush that was staining his cheeks begin to spread. I felt the corners of my mouth twitch with amusement, quelling the almost irresistible urge to say _I told you you so._

_He seems to be coming round, now,_ I thought, my heart swelling, sparing a glance in his direction before my eyes flickered back to Mrs. Cameron. _I guess it means we're both growing up._

"You said that you wished to speak with us about something?"

"Oh, yes!" She looked embarrassed for a moment but quickly regained her composure. "There was something rather odd about that young lady, Sir."

We nodded.

"We had gathered that," I said forthrightly. _In more ways than one,_ I added mentally but didn't say it out loud.

"Yes, Sir, but there really_ is_ something _odd_ about her."

We looked at her quizzically for a few moments in expectant silence before she added, noting our inquisitive glances, "Well, it's her clothing, Sir."

We both looked at her in surprise.

"Her... _clothing_?" I repeated stupidly, my eyebrow raising. I noticed that Miles had the same poleaxed expression on his face as well and we both waited for our Housekeeper to explain what she meant.

"Yes. It's a style that was popular when I was a young lady, some forty odd years ago," she explained. "I noticed that Miss Young was wearing a style of widow's weeds that was pretty popular back in the 1830's and 40's." She paused a moment. "I remember it well when I was growing up because my Grandmother wore the same style after my Grandfather passed away in 1837 and she wore those weeds for the rest of her life until she, too, passed in 1865."

She paused again, considering, her index finger tapping her chin thoughtfully. "The fact that Miss Young was wearing the same style of widow's weeds that my Grandmother did until her death is pretty strange considering that she never married or, at least, I didn't see any kind of betrothal ring or wedding band which she would most certainly have been wearing. And there was something else..."

Her face creased in concentration for a moment and then brightened as her hand went into her pocket, producing a tattered piece of black cloth which she handed to me and I took it, an odd expression crossing my face. "She left this behind as well so I thought that I would hold onto it until she came back or give it to one of you to take back to her."

"What is it?" I asked, looking at the cloth in my hand curiously, turning it over in my hands.

"Why, Sir, its a black armband," Mrs. Cameron said patiently. "It's worn by one who's mourning for the year following a death. The young lady had dropped it and she was already gone by the time that I noticed so, as I said, I picked it up and put it in my pocket until she either came back or one or both of you went to see her."

Miles and I exchanged surprised glances. To be honest, the thought hadn't really occurred to us; women, whether consciously or not, were always aware of what other women were wearing and Mrs. Cameron was no exception, as she had just proven.

She _had_ noticed the odd cut of Miss Young's clothing as being nearly forty years out of date and, for the both of us, that just cemented the odd feeling that we'd had when she was present in our receiving room. Why would a young woman and, by all appearances a modern young woman, wear antiquated clothing? She _wouldn't..._ unless there was some extenuating circumstance that precipitated her doing so.

We both stood as one and leaned forward, giving Mrs. Cameron a kiss on the cheek before bolting from the room, grabbing our overcoats and hats as we raced out the door, yelling back that we would be back in an hour or two, slamming the door behind us.

She watched us leaving from the ornate picture window in the receiving room, touching her fingers to her cheek with a stunned, but proud smile, on her face.

_Yes,_ she thought, pride swelling in her chest as she went through the room and gathered up the tea pot and the delicacies, _I'm definitely happy to be working for them._

There was one more thing that she needed to do before we returned and, after she had tidied up, she fetched her best hat and cloak and, with a jaunty step, she made her way out of the house, walking quickly down the street in the other direction than the one she had seen us taking.

It was time, she decided, to speak to the judge. It was high time for her boys to make honest men out of each other and she chortled to herself at how they thought that she _hadn't_ noticed.

_Silly boys,_ she thought with affection as she looked both ways before crossing the street and waving at a farmer passing by in a cart laden with fruits and vegetables who waved back as the horse drawn wagon plodded by. _I had four of my own, my lads, so why did you think you could hide anything from me?_ She chuckled to herself. _Lord knows_,_ mine tried to pull much the same stunts with their young ladies and gentlemen, including my eldest whom I knew was a friend of Ganymede._ _I _know _all your tricks._

She had much to do today in order to prepare so she hurried down the next street and turned the corner to arrive at her first stop, knocking smartly on the ornate oak door with the brass doorknocker. She hummed a tune as she waited and smiled at the apple cheeked maid who answered the door and welcomed her in, closing the door behind her.


	5. Resolutions

_May 8, 1888_

_She is a ghost._

_Helena Young, the young woman who had hired us to find her lost fiance, is a ghost._

With these words reverberating in my mind, I almost missed Miles turning right at the stop and I didn't notice for a few precious seconds that he had turned right. When I finally did, he was a good fifteen paces ahead of me and I had to hurry in order to catch up to him.

"Where are we going?" I asked, panting hard as we raced around the corner and sprinted across the street, narrowly missing a cart laden with fruit and vegetables that was slowly creaking toward us, the driver cursing us roundly as we weaved in and out away from him.

"To Carter Street," he yelled back, jumping over a puddle close to the sidewalk and sidestepping a noxious pile that was next to it. "I noticed there was an address sewn into the black band which I'm assuming is the wearer's address so I thought that might be one way we could solve this perplexing mystery and that is to try to track down the one who wore it."

"Good thought!" I returned, wincing at the stitch in my side but kept pushing my feet forward and apologizing to anyone I knocked into in my pell mell darting down the street. Judging by some of the curses that followed me in my wake, I supposed that my apology hadn't been accepted.

We just managed to reach the trolley car before it left on its usual rounds and jumped on just as it began inching its way down the street. I hung on to the bar, wheezing and trying to catch my breath while Miles looked grimly out into the distance. He had a sense of urgency about him that he hadn't before and I wondered what it was that had changed in the fifteen minutes we'd been doing a mad dash down the street.

He turned to me five minutes later and asked if I could give him the piece of faded black cloth and I did, a very puzzled expression on my face. He refused to say anything more until we arrived at Carter Street and, once we had arrived, he stepped lightly off the trolley as it came to a complete stop, walking quickly down the street and turning at the first corner with me following close behind him.

We walked up the street, turned right at the intersection and continued on down a tree lined cobblestone road that led to a quiet, out of the way house at the end of the road.

"Miles-?" I began but he motioned to me to be silent as we walked over to the rusty old iron wrought gate on an equally old and rusted fence that enclosed the property. He reached out and pulled it open, the gate squealing in shrill protest as he did so and shivers ran up and down my back at the piercing, grating sound.

I grimaced but made no other comment as we walked quickly, and with purpose, down the worn road that led to the house surrounded by a thick copse of trees. I looked about as we walked, noting that everything here was worn and tired looking, almost as if it were a shattered relic of its former self, waiting to shake off this mortal coil. I couldn't help the chill that ran down my back so I hurried along after Miles, keeping my eyes firmly locked on him and not on the decrepit surroundings.

Presently, we came to the house and my eyes widened at the sight that presented itself before our eyes. It was a large, two story Tudor style house with a weathered white fence surrounding it, twisted, gnarled trees stretching bare, dead branches toward the sky and the shattered remnants of what were once, or so it appeared to me, thriving rose bushes.

Miles walked quickly up the weathered stairs of the porch, the warped wood creaking its protest as we walked up and knocked on the door. The sound seemed to echo in the silent house and I wrapped my arms around myself, feeling a decidedly biting chill.

We waited for a time before Miles knocked again. Nothing. He knocked a third and fourth time. Nothing moved, not even a whisper of the wind, an eerie stillness filling the air with a dreadful sense of unease. I could tell that Miles felt it, too, even though he did his best not to show it outwardly as he lifted his hand and knocked one final time, with much more force than he had previously.

Time seemed to stand still for a few breaths before we heard the faint tap tapping sound coming from somewhere within the seedy-looking house that was slowly making its way toward us. The door slowly opened and a tired, bent old man slowly shuffled out from behind it, starting in surprise when he saw us standing there.

"Yes?" he said, his voice thin and harsh.

"Jonathan Williams?"

His eyebrow lifted, his craggy, lined face hardening. "Yes, I am Jonathan Williams." He looked suspiciously at us. "Who are you gentlemen?"

"My name is Miles Edgeworth," Miles said, waving a hand at me as I stood a little off to his left, "and this is my partner and colleague, Phoenix Wright."

"How do you do?" I said politely, extending my hand and shaking his which had a surprising strength to it that belied his weak and bent appearance.

"Pleasure," Mr. Williams returned, letting go of my hand and taking Miles' which he also shook, his watery greenish-blue eyes never once leaving us before they locked firmly onto Miles. "What can I do for you, Mr. Edgeworth?"

Miles didn't waste any time but came right to the point. "A certain young lady came to us three days ago, looking for our help in locating you."

Mr. Williams looked surprised.

"Young... _lady_?" he repeated, astonishment clearly etched on his face. "You say a young _lady_ came to see you three days ago and asked for your help in locating... _me_?"

I nodded. "That's right, Mr. Williams."

"Whatever for?" He was honestly puzzled. "I don't know any young ladies... so why would one express any interest in finding me?"

"She said that she had lost contact with you many years earlier and that you disappeared shortly before you and the young lady in question were to be wed." Miles paused for a moment. "She said her name was Helena Young." He nodded to me and I handed him the photograph which he took with a trembling hand. "This is the young lady who hired us to find you."

"Helena?!" Mr. Williams' eyes widened in shock, looking back and forth between the photograph and Miles many times before his eyes turned hard as he lurched toward us, anger blazing and practically shoving the photograph back into my hand.

"What kind of game are you two playing at?!" he wheezed, rage coloring his features a deep crimson, his gnarled hand clutching the cane so hard his knuckles turned white.

It was our turn to be astonished at the inexplicable turn of events as we stared mutely at him.

"I... don't understand, Mr. Williams," I began once I had gotten over my astonishment enough to speak, spreading my hands out in what I hoped would be a conciliatory gesture but it only seemed to enrage him further. "What are you talking about? We're not here to play _any_ kind of game..."

"Yes, you are!" he shrieked, raising his cane menacingly, his eyes flashing sparks. "You have to be if you've come here with a cock and bull story like that!"

I stepped quickly forward to intercept him should he strike out at Miles which it looked like he was going to do but Miles stood there coolly and waved me back, shaking his head. I obeyed the unspoken command and stepped back, my eyes troubled as I watched the drama unfolding in front of me.

_Miles, I hope you know what you're doing!_

He reached into his pocket, his eyes never leaving Mr. Williams' and pulled out the faded black armband which he held out in his hand.

"Does this belong to you, Mr. Williams?" he asked quietly and the old man stopped dead in his tracks at the sight of the faded black cloth that lay flat on Miles' palm. I was astonished at how quickly his rage died away and he moaned softly as he quickly reached out, snatching it with trembling hands.

Mr. Williams didn't reply for a long time but, when he at last did, his voice had lost every trace of anger and being replaced by a lingering sadness.

"Yes..." he said quietly, clutching the black armband to his breast as if it were a holy relic. "Yes... it belongs to me." He looked at us, tears forming in his eyes.

"Mr. Williams?" I asked gently, not wanting to hurt him any more than I could already see he was. "When did you get that black armband? Where did it come from?"

"Fifty-three years ago... at Helena's..._ funeral_." He took a deep breath. "My late sister made these black armbands specially for everyone who attended. Look-" he showed the small red heart that graced one corner of the band- "there's a small heart on mine. I specifically asked Patience to embroider one for me to remind me of what I'd lost."

He looked at the ground for a moment, tears slowly rolling down his cheeks. "I never married after her death, you see; I couldn't find a woman who could replace her in my heart and I gave up trying after awhile and came to live here in this house... which would have been our home after we were married."

He waved his arm around in small circles, his eyes shining as he traveled into memories of the past. "I built this house myself for the two of us only..." His voice caught and neither Miles nor I pressed him any further and waited for him to collect himself long enough so that he could speak.

"What happened?"

"I was set upon by bandits on my way back from a trip I'd made to Chatsworth," he explained, his voice very far away as if he were back forty years in time. "I was in the hospital for quite some time, recovering from my injuries and I didn't know who I was for a very long time. When I finally did regain my memory, I rushed as fast as I could to get word to her that I was alright and was coming home but by then it was already too late." His voice caught. "She... she... had killed herself three months earlier... Oh, God...! I was too late.. I was... too, too late...I miss her so much!"

Both of us stepped forward and placed one hand on Mr. Williams' shoulders, letting him grieve as we stood there. I touched the blue pastel calling card I had in my pocket but decided not to tell him about that. He hurt enough as it was and neither Miles nor I wanted to add to his grief.

We couldn't explain what had happened but it was clear that something Otherworldly had and it reminded me of something I had heard some time ago: "_Love is ageless with ties that are stronger than death..._" I reflected on how true that was though my heart ached for the two of them and the tragic turn that, in taking one life, had effectively destroyed the other.

We stood there for a few moments more before we turned to leave and, when we had walked down the stairs, Mr. Williams still stood on the porch, the black armband clutched to his chest, watching us before we disappeared from sight in the thick gloom.

I had taken about a dozen steps forward when I stopped, my eyes narrowing while Miles walked blithely on. I had caught something shimmering out of the corner of my eye and I turned my head toward the house. Miles had been walking for some distance and turned to see what was going on since he only heard one set of footsteps.

"Phoenix?" he asked as he made his way toward me, his looking curiously at me. "Is something wrong?"

"No." I shaded my eyes with my hand, looking hard in the gloomy distance. "I just thought I saw something for a moment, that's all."

Miles looked into the distance himself, his eyes narrowing while I continued to scan the area looking for a sign of movement that could have accounted for the strange glint that had caught my attention.

"I don't see anything," he said, squinting into the smoky darkness. "Are you sure you saw something?"

I looked out into the suffocating gloom once more for a few moments more and shook my head.

"No, I suppose not," I replied, squaring my shoulders as I turned and walked down the path, Miles following after me, a thoughtful look on his face.

**XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

_8 P.M._

It was nearly dark when we at last returned home, trudging wearily down the cobblestone sidewalk that led to our residence. I couldn't help thinking of the tragedy of Mr. Williams and Miss Young's star crossed romance and how I wished that it could have been different for them.

_If only Fate had been kinder,_ I thought sadly, taking Miles' gloved hand in my own and squeezing it gently, _what unhappiness could have been avoided._ It made me more appreciative what Miles and I had and how lucky we were.

Neither of us spoke as we walked up the stairs and, before either of us had a chance to react, the front door flew open and Mrs. Cameron was there, waving us in, a radiant smile on her face.

Before either of us had a chance to ask her what was going on or why on earth there seemed to be an unnatural hubbub going on from within our house, she grabbed us by the wrists and pulled us inside, slamming the door behind us and locking it.

"What on earth is going on, Mrs. Cameron?" Miles sputtered, thoroughly taken off guard by our Housekeeper's actions. "And _who_ are these people in _my_ house?! Explain yourself!"

"Why, dear, they're the Judge and _your_ wedding guests," she returned cheerfully, hastening us to the kitchen. "There's much to do before the ceremony and we need to measure you for your wedding suits."

"Our... **WHAT**?!" Miles and I both chorused in disbelief, looking at each other with matching expressions of surprise on our faces. I had thought of the idea of marrying Miles on more than one occasion but we wouldn't be able to marry legally so I'd put it on the back burner, never expecting that it would come back in so astonishing a fashion.

"Your wedding suits," she returned primly, her eyes narrowing into agate slits. "No sons of _mine_ are going to get married _without_ proper wedding attire!"

"What?!" I heard Miles exclaim. "_Married_?! But-!"

"Yes. Married." She looked at us, her eyebrow raising as she crossed her arms over her chest, her foot tapping impatiently on the tiled floor. "It's time you made honest men of each other and stop all this sneaking about when you think I'm not looking." She wagged her finger at us, chastising us like schoolboys, her other hand balled into a fist and resting on her hip. "I know what's been going on here for some time now and I think its high time that you two did something about it."

My mouth dropped open and Miles had a similar expression on his face at these words. It made me wonder just how much she really knew about us and how much we thought that we had kept secret.

I spoke first after a few moments of uncomfortable silence.

"But, Mrs. Cameron, we _can't_ have a wedding," I started to say, "and, legally, we _can't_ even-"

"Don't worry, dear," Mrs. Cameron interrupted, a wide smile on her face, "everything has been taken care of. The Judge will conduct the ceremony, I'm housing the guests, who agreed to help me put this together, in the unused wing near the back and I have the wedding bands ready..."

"Wedding... bands?" I heard Miles' voice ask haltingly.

"Of course, they _did_ belong to my dear parents, God rest their souls, and are a bit dated. The bands were given to me after they had passed away but before they were buried in the parish churchyard. I hope that you don't mind." She sounded a little nervous although it really didn't show too much in the hopeful expression she had on her face.

"Of... course not," I stammered, Miles giving me a sour look as he rolled his eyes, crossing his arms over his chest. What else could I say?

A look of immense relief spread over her face and she chattered on excitedly, talking animatedly while she literally bounced from one room to the other while Miles and I stared like fools in her wake, still stunned over the turn of events.

_Proper... wedding attire...? Wedding bands?_ My eyes widened as Mrs. Cameron came back into the room. _She...knows, doesn't she? She's known... all along..._

"Of course I did, dear," she remarked, winking roguishly at me as she came back, "it was so obvious." She gently pushed me forward. "Now you go in there. The tailor is waiting for you."

"But-" I began to protest but hurriedly shut my mouth when I saw that she wasn't listening. I lifted my hands in defeat and didn't resist as she hustled me out of the room into the receiving room where a tailor stood, measuring tape hanging around his neck and ready to take my measurements. She stood there long enough to make sure I wouldn't bolt and then hurried back into the other room.

"I think a light bluish-grey suit will be appropriate for Mr. Wright," I heard Mrs. Cameron say to the tailor, who nodded as he took the tape from around his neck and walked toward me, "and a white suit for Mr. Edgeworth."

I couldn't help but grin when I overheard that particular tidbit and wondered what Miles would think once he found out. I didn't have long to wonder; judging from the din coming out of the other room, Miles objected strenuously to being measured _and_ wearing white. I couldn't help but chuckle at the mental image it brought up in my mind.

"Mr. Edgeworth," I heard Mrs. Cameron say from the other room in a firm voice that broked _no_ argument, "you need to be measured for a proper wedding suit. Now _stop_ fussing and let him measure you..."

_Mrs. Cameron,_ I thought with affection, _you really_ are _a jewel among women!_ I winced slightly as I heard Miles' voice loudly protesting with Mrs. Cameron about the color of his wedding suit and she firmly, and loudly, overruling him.

A crooked grin spread over my face. _Well,_ almost _all of us._

**XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

We were married three days later in the back of the house, a wedding arch standing proudly, and entwined with roses, at the entrance to the garden. Miles looked radiant in his white wedding suit and I beamed in my soft bluish-grey. The rings, which Mrs. Cameron had polished until they shone, sparkled in the sunlight. The Judge, who we later found out had been a close childhood friend of Mrs. Cameron's, conducted the ceremony and, afterwards, we were treated to Mrs. Cameron's magnificent cooking, preparing a wedding meal fit for royalty.

I glanced over at my new spouse and marveled anew at how lucky I was to have Miles in my life. After the hell that we'd been through for the past few days with so much tragedy and sadness, it was nice to have some happiness in our lives arise from a case for a change.

He eventually forgave Mrs. Cameron for running interference in our life and he relaxed noticeably while she darted about, doing what she did best. I couldn't help but chuckle at her madcap antics as she did so.

I was so lost in thought that I didn't notice that someone _else_ had joined the party until Miles nudged me and I looked over in the direction he pointed. Two shimmering forms had appeared in the corner of the garden across from where we sat and slowly came into being: one was a young lady, dressed in an antiquated black dress and the other was a proud, young man in a dove-grey wedding suit by her side, their faces beaming with happiness as they held hands and exchanged a tender kiss.

_Thank you,_ they seemed to say as they parted, turning to face us once again, their ethereal faces beaming with unmistakable happiness. _Thank you. For everything._

My breath caught when I was finally aware of their presence and glanced at Miles when I felt his hand slip gently into mine, squeezing it lovingly as we looked at each other and then back at them. I felt peace slide over me as we raised our glasses of champagne in a toast to them which they graciously received before they turned to look at each other as they slowly vanished from sight.

We looked at each other and grinned.

"Thank you," I said softly, as I tilted my flute the the direction of where they had once stood, lowering my head in respect. "Godspeed."

I thought back to two days earlier. We'd been surprised when a visitor, an attorney that we both knew well, arrived at our door to deliver us a heavy envelope. When we'd opened it, we found, to our astonishment, a generous stipend and a note from Jonathan Williams that thanked us for everything that we'd done on Helena's behalf... and his.

He was leaving us everything that he had in the world since he had no family of his own and stated that Helena had come to him the day after we'd left to tell him that he would soon join her. We weren't to mourn his passing, he said, because he was more than happy to go but he did want to express both their thanks for everything that we had done for them. And he did join her exactly as she had predicted...two days before Miles and I were married.

I sat there for some time in silence, looking at the place where they had stood and smiled as I thought of them. Strange a case as this had been, I was happy that Miles and I had been able to bring together two lonely souls who had been so tragically separated fifty-three years earlier but now who would be together forever.

After all, it _was_ Helena Young and Jonathan Williams' wedding day, too and, after all this time, they deserved some happiness.

As for the feeling that Miles had that he knew Miss Young from somewhere and was certain that he had seen her before? It turns out that he did, in a manner of speaking. Searching through some records at the church on the corner while we were investigating another case a few months later, we found out that Miles' paternal grandmother _was_ indeed related to Helena Young. She was her half sister, the daughter of Amos Young and his housekeeper whom he had married in secret in 1842, three years after his wife's death in childbirth, due to the staunch opposition of the young woman's parents.

Miles had a daguerreotype of her on the piano and I marveled at how much Alena Young Edgeworth resembled Helena even though she wasn't directly related to her through his second wife Charity, Helena's mother, but had the same father.

All of that was in the future and, as Miles and I settled down to begin our new life together, I couldn't help but send up a whispered prayer for the continued happiness of Helena Young and Jonathan Williams in the next life and heartfelt gratitude to her for having come back to help make right something that had gone tragically wrong so long ago.

_Godspeed._

As I lifted the glass to take of a sip of champagne, I thought I saw a faint glimmer of light close by me that flickered three times before it vanished.

I couldn't help but smile as I swallowed the bubbly libation, holding Miles close to me. I was certain that it was Helena and Jonathan giving our union their blessing.

_And that,_ I reflected as I leaned over and kissed my new spouse who beamed as he kissed me back, _was the second best thing of all._

**~FIN~**


End file.
